Road to Nowhere (5 page)

On with the charade.

“Mrs. Brown?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Esterhouse?”

“Yes.”

“Ms. Gulotsky?”

“I vote no.”

“Mr. Harris?”

“Wait a minute.” This was ridiculous. He turned to his left. “Are you ever going to vote yes for anything?”

This time he looked at her close. Somehow she wasn’t what he’d expected. She was about ten years older than he’d guessed, and not how he figured a crazy would look.

“At the right time,” she said.

“For Pete’s sake.” He turned back to Patsy. “I find last month’s minutes worthy. Yes.”

“Mr. McCoy?”

“Yes.”

“Four in favor, one opposed,” Patsy said.

“Motion carries,” Joe said. “Minutes are accepted. Next is receiving public comment.”

Looked like there was going to be some. A guy from the audience was already coming up to the podium, and he looked familiar.

“Please state your name and address for the record,” Joe said.

“Dr. Everett Colony.” Sure, that was it. Corny knew him from PTA at the high school. “712 Hemlock Street in Wardsville.” And here it came.

“I wish to make a statement concerning this ill-advised plan to put a major road through the Mountain View neighborhood.”

The board settled into their diatribe positions. Louise was looking all concerned, and Randy was pretending to, and Joe didn’t move. On the left, Eliza Gulotsky’s eyes were as big as saucers. Luke Goddard had moved to right behind Colony’s chair, and he was as serious as if he were reporting Pearl Harbor.

“I can only presume that our Board of Supervisors was unaware of what they were voting for last month,” the good doctor was saying. “I request that you immediately withdraw your application to the state for the construction of Gold River Highway over Ayawisgi Mountain. There is not a person in Wardsville who wants this road, and the damage it would do to Hemlock Street and Mountain View would be immeasurable. . . .”

The words poured forth.

“. . . this colossal waste of taxpayer money is indefensible . . .”

How long did one person get for their comments, anyway?

“. . . it will destroy a matchless vista and wreak havoc on the mountain wilderness we have all enjoyed for generations . . .”

Baloney. Wade checked his watch: four minutes, and counting. Well, it looked like he’d had his back turned and Randy had stolen a base. Ten months of this was going to wear them all down. Or at least, it would be enough to wear down Louise. She was already looking frayed.

“. . . Hemlock Street is already burdened with a constant stream of trucks from the furniture factory . . .”

Blah, blah, blah.

“. . . will serve no purpose, connecting Wardsville with an empty valley, and will remain an unused, expensive, empty scar . . .”

Yak, yak, yak.

“. . . bringing hundreds and hundreds of cars through a once-peaceful neighborhood—”

“Wait a minute,” Wade said. There was usually no point arguing with the public, but this was flat crazy. “So how is this road bringing hundreds of cars if it’s an unused and empty scar?”

“Excuse me?” the man said. Joe shifted in his chair, the first time he’d moved, and now it was Randy’s eyes as big as saucers.

“If there are no cars, there won’t be any traffic bothering Mountain View. And if there are cars using it, then the road’s no waste.”

Dr. Everett Colony hit the roof.

“You wait a minute!” His face was hot red and his voice was red hot. “Your job is to listen to the people who vote and pay taxes. We’re telling you we don’t want this road, and you had better kill it as fast as you can.”

Oh yeah? Any little pretense that this was going to be a polite discussion had melted in that blast. Wade didn’t take heat like that from anybody.

“The voters and taxpayers in Gold Valley—”

“Gold Valley has no right to put a highway right through the middle of Wardsville, and they should just keep out of this.” And Dr. Colony was not finished. “And we don’t need a slick salesman from Raleigh who only got himself elected to line his own pockets—”

There was a crack like a gunshot and every eye was on Joe Esterhouse and his gavel.

“I’ll thank everyone for their
civil
comments,” he said. “And I’ll point out the funding for this project has not yet been approved. Now we’re going to proceed with our business.”

Wade was taking deep breaths. What a hit job! Okay, then Randy McCoy was going to see how two could play this game, and pockets in Raleigh were a lot deeper than pockets in Wardsville.

Colony was sitting down, and Luke Goddard was leaning forward, whispering to him. He’d probably have to buy a newspaper whenever it came out next. Or maybe he could just imagine what it was going to say.

The meeting went on and Joe went through his agenda and Wade fumed. He stared up at all the curlicues and corkscrews in the ceiling woodwork just to keep his eyes from connecting with the audience. There was a place up in the corner between the ceiling and the walls where a sheet of plywood was nailed up over part of a mural. He was trying to figure why it was there, or what would be under it. It was painted to match the walls—

“Mr. Harris?” It was Patsy.

“Huh? What?”

“Are you voting?”

“On what?” He looked at his agenda.

“It’s to put more parking meters on Main Street,” Louise said.

Wade turned to Randy. “How are you voting?”

Randy scrunched back in his chair. “It’s not my turn yet.”

“What will you vote?”

“Well, yes.”

Wade turned to Patsy. “Then put me down for a big fat no.”

“Mr. McCoy?” she said after a little pause.

“Um . . . well, yes.”

“Three in favor, two opposed.”

“The motion passes,” Joe said.

Wade looked through his agenda. There were three more items to vote on. He wasn’t sure that what was left of his temper was going to hold.

“Next item,” Joe said. “Report from the Planning Commission on flood control.”

That sounded mind-numbing enough to cool everyone down.

Someone new had come to the podium. It took a second to remember that it was the guy they’d put on the Planning Commission. Whatever his name was. Stephen Carter.

“Good evening.” he said, and he held out a wad of papers to them, one by one. “Um . . . I haven’t presented anything to you before, and I’m not sure how it’s done.”

“Of course you haven’t done it before,” Joe said. “We only appointed you last month. How’d you get roped into this? Usually it’s the chairman that presents reports.”

“I am the chairman.”

Wade laughed out loud. He was on edge, and the whole Jefferson County absurdity of it just got to him.

Joe ignored him. “How’d you get to be chairman?”

“No one else wanted to be.”

Louise had to laugh at that and even Joe smiled. That blew the tension like a popped balloon. Wade turned back to Randy. “You mean, after all that fuss you made last month about not wanting him on the Planning Commission, you went and made him chairman?”

“Well, now, I didn’t say I didn’t want him,” Randy said, in true Randy-speak. “Just that I had some concerns.”

“But you voted him chairman?”

“You see, Humphrey King had been before and he wanted someone else to take a turn, and Ed Fiddler’s real busy at the bank now that he’s vice-president, and Duane Fowler wasn’t there, and I can’t because I’m on this board, too–”

“Never mind,” Wade said. Bunch of hypocrites. “Go ahead and give your report.”

“Yes.” Carter straightened his papers. The man was probably thirty-five. Or maybe not yet—he was nervous, but he still had a competent feel that made him seem older, and thin hair and thick glasses, too. He paused, then set the papers down and looked right at Joe.

“The state wants every county to update the flood emergency sections of their comprehensive plans. Jefferson County doesn’t have a flood section in their plan, so the Planning Commission has to write one. I’ve looked at other county’s plans and state flood plain maps and put together a draft. However, the Board of Supervisors needs to approve adding sections to the comprehensive plan.”

“Hasn’t it only been a week since your first meeting?” Louise asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ed Fiddler thought we should have it for tonight,” Randy said.

Louise was shaking her head. “Honey, those people will run you ragged if you let them. Now, don’t just give in to them like that.”

“I don’t mind,” he said. Now that he was talking, he had presence. Like he’d made lots of presentations, and to more important people than the Jefferson County North Carolina Board of Supervisors. “I’m a civil engineer, Mrs. Brown. This is what I do.”

“I’d say you were being real civil,” she said.

That had given Wade a chance to look through his copy, and he was seeing something real interesting.

“What’s this on page six?”

Carter didn’t even pick up his own papers to look. “That’s the part about accessibility into the town of Wardsville in the event of a flood. If the Fort Ashe River floods and damages the bridge, there’s no access into town from the south and west. I’m sure you all know what would happen if the bridge went out.”

“You either need to go all the way to the bridge at Coble,” Wade said, “or over the mountain on the dirt road into Gold Valley.”

“Exactly,” Carter said. “The comprehensive plan shows Gold River Highway being completed, and that–”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Everett Colony was erupting again. “Who got this man on the Planning Commission? You’re not from the county.”

Crack went the gavel again. “This board appointed Mr. Carter,” Joe said, “and he is a resident of the county.” His voice would have intimidated a flood.

“You’re trying to sneak this road in under some unrelated planning section,” Colony said, and he was not intimidated. “This is outrageous.”

Wade was biting his lip. Just don’t get into it again.

“The board is not accepting public comment at this time,” Joe said in a voice that would have frozen the flood solid, and this time even Colony sat down. “Is there a motion to add a section to the comprehensive plan concerning flood planning?”

“I’ll move that,” Wade said.

“I’ll second,” Louise said.

“Any discussion?”

“Now, Joe.” Randy was squirming. The whole audience had their eyes on him, and the reporter had his pencil at the ready. “Am I understanding that the state says we have to put this section in?”

“Lyle,” Joe said to the county manager, “you have any comments on that?”

The guy turned white. “Well, Joe, uh.” Then red. “That depends. Or actually, uh—”

Carter cut in. Mercifully. “It’s part of the basic requirements for state funding.”

“My point,” Randy said, “is whether this means we’re making any kind of commitment to Gold River Highway. That’s all I’m asking.”

Joe shook his head. “We’re not committing to build that road.”

“But we’re saying that we’re counting on it in case of a flood.”

“Do you have a better plan?” Wade asked. “What should we do if that bridge gets washed away?”

“Well, I don’t think it will. It looks pretty strong to me, and I don’t see it going anywhere.”

“The last flood washed it right out,” Louise said.

“That was thirty years ago,” Randy said. “And they built this new bridge to stay put. I don’t think we need to even talk about it washing away in this report.”

“That’s up to the Planning Commission,” Wade said. “We’re just letting them put in a section on flooding. You’re on the commission— you can decide what to put in it.” He waved the report. “Didn’t you even look at this after you told him to write it?”

“There hasn’t been much time.” Randy’s friends were glaring at him. “We’ll talk about it at the next commission meeting.”

“Go ahead, Patsy,” Joe said.

“Mrs. Brown?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Esterhouse?”

“Yes.”

“Ms. Gulotsky?”

“I vote no.”

“Mr. Harris?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Mr. McCoy?”

“Well, it’s already passed, and we can talk about it later, and we need to because Raleigh says so. So I’ll say yes.”

Everett Colony stood, his mouth clamped shut, and walked out of the room.

“Four in favor, one opposed,” Patsy said after the echoes from the slammed door subsided.

“Motion carries.” Joe said. Apparently he’d had enough, too. “We’ll leave the last two items for next month. Meeting adjourned.”

The deep, ancient black of night; her way curved and climbed in the forest shadows. Away from the false light of the hard streets and straight buildings, here the road respected the land and only went where it was allowed by the hills and trees, not going through but around and between and among.

Beneath and above her, and everything, was the mountain.

The quiet battering of the motor was the only sound. Zach left it running as he stopped in the clearing, but he darkened the headlights to give as little offense as he could to the night.

“Do you need anything?” he said as she opened the car door.

“No.” It was cold, but still. “Thank you so much, Zach.”

“We’ll check in. Good night, Eliza.”

He waited until she had her door open; then the headlights came on again and the car turned. Inside the old cabin, she watched the trees cover the light and sound of the car, and at last it was gone.

She stirred the embers of the fire. It came to flickering life, and with a match she lit two lamps on the table.

What a strange place that had been. How strange to have been there. Anger; force against force, will against will. One’s purpose against another’s.

In the small circle that each person drew around their own life, they saw so little. Few saw the great forces that ruled from their strongholds and dominated the small women and men living beneath. But the great conflicts were often fought using small lives.

The Warrior.

As she braided her hair, she considered her own presence on the council. It was for a greater purpose than her own that she was a member of it. She understood little of what was said, and the decisions they made were about such strange things.